


Hearts On Fire

by AvaRosier



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Firefighter Jon, Modern Westeros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9603485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: Written for @jonxsansafanfiction 15 Days of Valentines challenge, day five: hearts.In which Jon is a firefighter, Sansa isn’t so good at this adulting thing, and let it be a lesson to all of you to always wear nice underwear just in case you’re fleeing a fire and they get seen by a hot firefighter. It happens.





	

Note: Modern Queenscrown resembles one of those western mountain towns like Telluride, Colorado.

 

* * *

 

Sansa Stark was an Independent Woman. Really.

She just happened to not be very good at it; a disadvantage she hoped would fade over time with some practice. She had moved to Queenscrown  for college two years ago and the bustling town, with its quaint main street, was surrounded by mountains full of pine trees and a can-do spirit.  Also bears.

(Seriously, her freshman orientation had drilled them on the suggested etiquette of what to do in the event a bear had wandered into one of their buildings.)

But. Anyways. For her junior year, Sansa had decided to take the next step in her evolving adultdom: moving out of the dorms and into an apartment. She’d even found the perfect little place inside a four story red-brick building. Granted, it was practically across the street from the fire station but if there was one thing college taught you, it was how to survive on very little or interrupted sleep. She’d had plenty of that whenever some idiot set off the fire alarm at one am on a Tuesday.

When Sansa had moved into the apartment, she hadn’t realized how often the shriek of the fire alarm or the clanging bell from the station across the street would be because of _her_. Alas, the biggest hurdle to her self-sufficiency was the discovery of her inability to cook food without burning it to a crisp.

The first time it had been deli fried chicken, still in its plastic bag, in the microwave. When the whole thing began sparking and emitting smoke, she’d panicked and screamed out loud. Between that and the smoke blowing out her open window, the firefighters enjoying a warm and sunny September day below hadn’t even needed to wait for the alarm to start going off to run into her building and help her out.

Normally, this would only be a moderately embarrassing event, but what made it truly humiliating was the firefighter who gently pried the extinguisher out of her fumbling hands. He was really, really attractive. Like, stupidly so. Between the curly dark brown hair that pulled off a manbun like he was majoring in it, the soulful eyes and brooding pout, and the muscles…thirteen-year-old Sansa would never forgive twenty-year-old Sansa if she didn’t tap that.

But obviously that was impossible now that Jon Snow had seen how inept she was at being independent.

There had been a second time (lesson: she should never try to cook with alcohol much less vodka) and a third (she was convinced her fire alarm was overly sensitive because there had barely been any smoke that time) and a fourth (her roast catching fire in the oven was the perfect metaphor for Harry dumping her on her birthday). Jon had responded to every one of the alarms, sometimes with faint amusement around his eyes and lips, sometimes with wide eyes as he tried to figure out how someone could be _this much of a disaster_.

Or maybe that’d been the short, tight dress she had been wearing for Harry.

Nobody could accuse her of manufacturing events just to get rescued by hot firefighters- she never called them. They just decided to check out the cause of her alarm to make sure it wasn’t going to snowball into the entire building going up in flames. Sansa was convinced that her landlord was _thisclose_ to evicting her because of all the trouble she caused. Which brings us to today, to the absolute din of all the alarms in the building going off. Sansa had been eating her (storebought) salad while she worked on a paper for her polisci class when that horrid sound started and for one terrifying moment she thought she’d somehow forgotten something on the stove or in the oven or the microwave she left unplugged unless she was using it that very minute… But nope, whatever it was, it wasn’t because of her.

Maybe that was why she was whooping and smiling widely as she headed for the stairs. Her joy was short-lived when she saw the smoke rising up through the stairwell. For a second she started to panic, then she remembered that the window in her bathroom opened onto the fire escape.

She was already regretting it as she climbed out the window and onto the rickety set of metal stairs the creaked ominously every time she so much as moved a muscle. That she was on the fourth floor didn’t help matters any. Sansa could hear fire engines and shouting as she slowly made her way down to the third floor and then the second. It was a frigid day, but not as cold as it usually was in February, so she wasn’t in immediate danger of freezing to death. The alley was below and nobody else seemed to be taking the same route as her, which became a problem when she made it to the end of the fire escape…twelve feet above the ground.

“Aren’t these things supposed to come with a ladder?” She moaned as she turned around and wriggled backwards on her belly, sending her legs over the edge where they dangled  in the air. The lack of people in the alley became a blessing when she realized that the hem of her sweaterdress had snagged on the metal and her underwear was now exposed.

“Sansa?” A familiar voice called from below.

“No,” she declared with finality.

“No, you’re not Sansa?” Jon asked.

“No as in ‘no this is not happening’.” She was aware she sounded a little hysterical but under the circumstances… She clung to the icy cold metal railing and chanced a glance downwards. It really ought to be criminal how attractive Jon Snow looked in his uniform, which was now open and showing one of the too-tight black shirts he always seemed to be wearing. Jon’s eyes left hers, darting down as if he would possibly be quick enough for her not to notice.

“Don’t look at me!” She snapped at him. “This isn’t how I wanted you to see my underwear.”  If there were ever a moment she wanted the ground to open up and a vortex to suck her in, this was it. Jon didn’t seem to care about her humiliation, too busy being chuffed at her admission.

“So you _do_ want me to see your underwear at some point?”

Sansa didn’t answer.

“Not that I’m not enjoying the view, to be honest- the white lace and red hearts are cute- but what _are_ you doing?”

“Being proactive and escaping a fire? That I didn’t start, thank you very much,” she told him sternly.

“No, that was your neighbor in 3A. Who thought he could grow his own pot but instead overloaded his electrical socket.”

“Sounds like Lommy, alright. Maybe Mr. Glover will evict him instead of me.” Sansa muttered to herself before she gripped the railing tighter with one arm while she attempted to move fast enough to rip her dress away. A stupid move in theory, even stupider when she failed in its execution. She yelped as she lost her grip and began to fall from the fire escape.

There was a grunt as she hit something hard-but-not-hard-enough-to-be-concrete. Breathing shakily, Sansa sat up and realized Jon had broken her fall. He groaned, trying valiantly to hide his grimace of pain. Moving until she was straddling his hips, she patted his pectorals in a way she hoped was comforting and not creepy.

“I didn’t break you, did I?”

“No, no,” Jon shook his head. “I ah, I probably didn’t need to have my kidneys there anyways.”

Sansa grinned cheekily down at him. “Thanks for breaking my fall, though. And keeping my panties from getting dirty on the concrete- they cost me a fair bit of goldens.” Jon echoed her grin then. She definitely wasn’t missing the way his hands were resting on her bare knees. Not moving, not groping, just a small comforting presence.

“I gotta ask, are you wearing those panties for anybody special today?” He cleared his throat, eyebrows furrowed in an adorably concerned way. Okay, so maybe she had picked this pair because it was Valentine’s Day today.

“Nope, I’m single and ready to mingle.” _Take the hint take the hint take the hint_. “Celebrating the holiday by treating myself.” That wasn’t a lie. She _was_ planning on picking up a meal from her favorite restaurant in town, cracking open a bottle of wine, watching some Netflix, and then busting out her trusty vibrator.

“You know, there is a way you could make it up to me.” Jon said with faux nonchalance. One thumb began rubbing lightly on the inside of her left knee. Desire grew and settled in her lower belly with a warm glow. Weren’t firefighters supposed to put out fires instead of starting them? Or maybe this was his way of keeping her from contracting hypothermia.

“I’m listening.”

“How about dinner tonight? I’ll cook,” he rushed to clarify. Sansa pretended to think about it for a minute, humming lightly.

“Make it dinner _and_ dessert and maybe I’ll bring these panties, too.” She was rewarded with Jon’s eyes darkening and his fingers digging just a little harder into her skin.

“Alright then. Seven good?”

“Seven’s perfect.”

 

 

 

Forget about wearing her heart on her sleeve; maybe there was something to be said about wearing her heart on her panties.


End file.
